


Need You Now

by thewaterfalcon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Firewhiskey, Infidelity, Oral Sex, Ronsy - Freeform, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:51:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9120454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaterfalcon/pseuds/thewaterfalcon
Summary: It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now.WINNER: Best One-Shot in the 2017 Wandlore AwardsAS READ ON THE POTTEROTICA PODCAST





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Need You Now by Lady Antebellum
> 
> Beta love to LadyParongsny

01:15. Saturday. Slytherin Common Room.

 

Reaching clumsily towards the closest surface for a nearby quill, Pansy Parkinson leaned forward, the backs of her thighs leaving the grand, dark green leather couch she had been sitting on as she reached her full height and balanced precariously on her tiptoes. The quill in question was located on a high level desk, which rested against the back of opposite couch, identical in every way to the one she’d been sitting on. 

Finding her current position hazily impractical, Pansy found herself climbing onto the opposite couch, kneeling rather ungraciously against its’ back as she retrieved the quill. The raven haired witch sighed deeply as her mouth stretched into a sly smile, which,  _ considering the common room was currently overwise deserted,  _ was directed at noone in particular. 

Pansy pushed herself upright using the large cylindrical arm of the couch she’d been kneeling on top of and found herself swaying slightly once upright, steadying herself, Pansy’s gaze shifted to the original couch she’d originally been sitting on and a glazed shine sparkled across her green eyes as she focussed,  _ albeit somewhat fuzzily,  _ onto the half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey she’d left nestled between two large silver cushions.  

_ I’d forgotten about you,  _ Pansy’s thoughts directed themselves towards the bottle as the amber liquid within looked teasingly inviting to the young woman. 

_ Not yet, first write.Then drink.  _ Pansy shook her head forcibly as though convincing herself of her own thought process, her fingers wrapped around the quill and she moved both swift and staggering, through the large room, her mind focussed solely on the completion of this one particular task.

Pansy found herself in front of a small, mahogany set of drawers that the witch knew contained spare parchment, primarily for homework use. Opening the second drawer down, Pansy retrieved a single piece of blank, creamy parchment. The top of the drawers happened to be the nearest available surface and Pansy wasted no time in leaning over the piece of furniture to scribble the note she’d been debating writing for the better part of an hour.

Looking over at Roland, one of the Parkinson Eagle Owls,  _ having been allowed to keep Roland at Hogwarts _ , she’d summoned via a special, intricate whistle-like call she’d learnt at a very young age, Pansy read her written words over before attaching the,  _ now rolled up,  _ parchment to Roland’s leg and informing him of its destination. She watched as the bird of prey flew straight up towards the ceiling; the majority of the Slytherin common room windows looked directly into the lake but there was one solitary opening, in one of the corners, which owls could fly in and out of, and Pansy looked up at the opening for a full minute after her owl had disappeared through it, before she made her way back to the couch, picked up her bottle of Firewhiskey and drank the spirit with far greater ease than she would ever admit to anyone. 

 

Or  _ almost  _ anyone…  
  
  


01.15. Saturday. Gryffindor Common Room. 

 

“If I can just find out  _ what  _ he’s doing,” Harry Potter brought a closed fist down on the arm of his chair, hard. The surprise the sharp thud brought forced Ron Weasley’s eyes to leave the dancing flames within the hearth and snap themselves on his best friend’s frustrated expression.

“What?” Ron replied, realising that, not for the first time this week, he had failed to hear a single word that Harry had said.

“Just Malfoy, I want to know what he’s doing,” Harry grumbled, his tense frame sank into the armchair, a look of desperation crossing his pale face, his bright, green eyes now reflecting the fire as he stared into the flames intently, reminiscent to how Ron’s face had been poised, mere moments before. 

_ Mate, it isn’t what he’s doing you need to worry about, it’s who.  _ Ron thought, an outward sigh escaping his lips as he battled yet again with the internal struggle to continue keeping the secret from his best friend that he was entirely certain Harry would never dream of keeping from him. A truth, which Ron knew Harry would find so diabolical it could rip the trio apart. 

This secret in question, however, was only half of Ron’s recent omitting of the truth, the second half involved the red head directly and,  _ Ron was certain _ , was capable of causing just as much of a rift between the three friends. Finding his eyes were, once again, upon the roaring flames, Ron’s mind however, was focussed on a different scene entirely. On a magically cushioned table, a bottle of Firewhiskey and  _ her… _

 

“Is that an owl?” Harry stood up, a sudden movement on his part jolting Ron back into the present for a second time. Spinning his head around to the direction Harry had began to walk, Ron’s gaze followed Harry’s dark head as an owl did indeed appear to be hooting quietly from the other side of the window pane.    
Ron watched as Harry swiftly opened the window, allowing the owl to freely enter the circular room and Ron’s mouth opened in surprise as the large owl landed on the back of the chair nearest to him, holding out its leg, Ron unfurled the parchment and observed the owl almost instantaneously fly back the way it had came. 

“Who’s sending you messages at-” Harry paused to check his watch, “-quarter past one?”

Ron swallowed hard, he had an idea just who had sent him the small scroll which was now slightly crumpled in his left hand, taking a deep breath, he turned towards his best friend, knowing he’d have a far greater chance of saving their friendship by confessing all now, when the portrait hole suddenly opened and a clearly irate, bushy haired witch rushed in, stopping entirely still upon sighting the two wizards, her two best friends.

“I thought you had a headache?” Ron heard Harry query, his heart beating hard and fast. He knew  _ exactly  _ why Hermione had lied about having a headache, meeting the brunette’s eyes he gave her a small shrug, the time had come for both to come clean.

Hermione, clearly flustered, audibly gulped and Ron saw her avoid Harry’s questioning eyes. 

Unfurling the piece of parchment, Ron read the untidy scrawl, knowing in an instant the writer had been drinking, he sighed before tucking it into the front pocket of his hooded jumper.

“Well…!?” Harry cried, his gaze now shifting between Ron and Hermione, the lack of surprise on Ron’s behalf having clearly given him away. 

  
  


One Week Earlier

  
  


21.05. Friday. First-Floor.

 

The  _ click clack  _ of Pansy’s high heeled shoes echoed throughout the first-floor corridor. Her hurried stride matched the irritated look she was currently wearing perfectly. The witch could feel the magically shrunk bottle of Firewhiskey digging into her right breast from its current position, hidden in her bra. The hold-up stockings she’d attached to her thighs only twenty minutes prior were tight and uncomfortable, combined with the most troublesome pair of knickers she had ever worn,  _ knickers  _ being an incredibly generous description of the strips of fabric currently riding further and further into Pansy’s delicate nether-regions. Pansy’s expression of annoyance darkened with every step the witch took, her perfectly made-up eyes were narrowed as she thundered her way through the hallway. 

_ Where the fuck is he?! _

Pansy wasn’t entirely sure why she was checking this part of the castle, the only place of notice here was the library, which was located around a corner that Pansy was hastily approaching, and Pansy knew the library closed at eight o'clock every evening, considering it had now surpassed nine o’clock, Pansy was fairly certain that Draco would not be found here. Nonetheless, after half an hour of searching for her unreliable excuse for a boyfriend, Pansy was willing to rule any and everywhere out if it got her one step closer to the fight that most definitely awaited the couple. 

 

Pansy tore round the corner, her green eyes ablaze with fury, her mind on nothing more than her current desire to punch Draco in the face, when she collided, incredibly hard, with something, some _ one.  _ Although definitely not the someone she was searching for. 

 

21.05. Friday. Outside Library.

 

Letting out a small grunt of annoyance, Ron Weasley smacked his hand against the wall in frustration. Finding his  _ girlfriend,  _ if he could even call her such, with her legs wrapped around a seventh year Ravenclaw he didn’t even know the name of, in the broom cupboard  _ she’d _ asked  _ him _ to meet her at, whilst still wearing  _ his  _ Quidditch jersey was not how he’d envisioned his evening turning out.  _ Lavender Brown. Sadistic fucking bitch,  _ Ron thought angrily to himself as he attempted to control the rage boiling somewhere in the pit of his stomach, the old librarian, Madam Pince, had not appreciated his pounding on the locked library door in his search of Hermione, having realised he probably did owe her an overdue apology, and, perhaps slightly more accurately, to see him with his old friend would probably annoy Lavender the most. However, the fact that he knew she was neither in Gryffindor tower or the library, her two usual haunts, Ron was at a loss. With absolutely no desire to return to his common room and watch his best friend enthusiastically get off with his sister, Ron wished his elder twin brothers were still students, the chance of obtaining the copious amounts of alcohol he was beginning to desire was greatly increased with the twins presence. 

Making up his mind to go and pay a visit to the House Elves, for the sole purpose of obtaining some cooking alcohol, Ron set off steadily towards the end of the corridor, turning the corner and finding himself involved in an unexpected collision. 

  
  


21.45. Friday. Fifth-Floor.

 

Taking a large swig from the re-enlarged bottle of Firewhiskey, Pansy, her brain already feeling comfortably fuzzy, her legs were stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle, as she handed the bottle over to her unexpected red-headed companion. 

“So-,” Ron began between sporadic gulps of the liquor, “-he openly admitted to shagging someone else, he didn’t bother to tell you he decided to piss off tonight and he left you looking like-”, Ron’s blue eyes drifted downwards, over Pansy’s frame as he spoke, even Pansy could see his eyes appreciated the sight of her, “- _ that.  _ He’s a dickhead.” He finished pointedly, taking one last swig before passing the bottle back. 

Pansy shrugged, the bottle’s neck already aligned once more with her own, “ _ You _ are actually right for once, Weasel,” she answered with a snort. 

 

Their unforeseen collision had startled both Pansy and Ron, the former falling backwards, landing unflatteringly on her behind as the latter stumbled into the nearby wall, holding his nose, which had slammed into Pansy’s forehead. 

“Shit,” Pansy had moaned to herself as she sat up, surprised to see Ron Weasley’s hand presented in front of her, she gingerly took it and steadied herself, instantly regretting her choice of footwear.

“You alright?” Ron had mumbled, his face now hosting a similar pigmentation to his hair. 

“Yeah, you?” Pansy heard herself answering, awkwardly, wondering what in Merlin’s name she was doing engaging Weasel any more than was necessary. 

“I’m good, don’t suppose you’ve seen Hermione around?”

“No, don’t suppose you’ve seen Draco?” Pansy directed almost the exact same question back at the wizard, who shook his head in response. 

“Right, well...-”, Ron trailed off, “-unless you’ve got a bottle of Firewhiskey hidden-”, he gestured vaguely in her general direction, “-in that skirt, which I doubt, I’ll be on my way.”

Pansy, in spite of her still very present annoyance at Draco’s disappearance, openly laughed. “Not in my skirt no, but…”, reaching into the front of her top, which Pansy noticed caused Weasel’s attention to peak, she pulled the bottle of amber liquid forth and presented it in front of the wizard, glancing quickly around to check for signs of Professors or Filch, Pansy pulled her wand out and tapped the miniature bottle once, the two watched as it grew to its original size, a further tap caused it to shrink once more. Pansy slipped the bottle back into her bosom. 

“Well, Weasel I suppose you’ll do, there’s a good drinking spot on the fifth-floor behind a fuck-ugly statue if you’re interested?” 

_ Even Weasel beats drinking alone whilst Draco shags anything with a pulse. _

Without waiting for an answer Pansy turned on the spot and began walking away, her hips sashaying as she did, smiling,  _ though she didn’t wholly understand why _ , when she heard footsteps hurry to catch her up. 

  
  
  


_ What the hell am I doing?  _ Ron’s thought process was in a perpetually blurred state as he found his legs hurrying, _ actually hurrying,  _ to keep up with Pansy Parkinson. He  _ hated  _ Parkinson, He, Harry and Hermione all hated Parkinson, in fact, Pansy Parkinson was perhaps only one tiny part more likeable than Draco Malfoy alone. Yet, here the flame-haired wizard was, literally  _ almost running  _ at the chance of catching her up to aid her in the drinking of her cleverly disguised alcohol.

His pace slowed slightly as he met her stride, his eyes,  _ not for the first time that evening _ , locked greedily onto her body, and Ron couldn’t deny that,  _ as much of a pain as the girl often was,  _ she had an incredibly pleasing figure, which was only enhanced by her choice of attire, the tight, fully black ensemble consisted of a close-fitting, flimsy top,  _ its lace trim, Ron could see was only just covering her bra _ ; the shortest skirt he had had ever seen in real life barely covered her soft, round behind, he even thought he could see the hint of a stocking peeking down from the tight, black fabric. Ron had definitely not seen any such garment in person. The heel of her shoes was high,  _ really high,  _ and he noticed they featured a dark red sole. The effect the shoes had on her petite frame was impressive, even with Ron still convincing himself he hated the witch, he couldn’t help but like,  _ more than like, _ her appearance tonight, as she effortlessly pounded the floor of the castle’s halls, clearly having confidence in droves. 

The pair had reached the top of the Entrance Staircase, looking down it was clear the small group of bodies huddled at the entrance of the Great Hall included Professors. Ron watched as Pansy waved her wand and mumbled a quick spell, it became evidently clear the this had involved a cushioning charm Pansy had placed on the soles of her shoes. The raven haired witch turned her head to face him, her eyes meeting Ron’s as she raised one finger vertically over her lips, signalling the need for them continue much quieter than they had been thus far. Nodding briefly to his present company, Ron followed Pansy’s suit and magically cushioned his own footsteps, before they hastily, yet carefully, moved across the top of the staircase.

“We should be okay from now, the west side stairs are usually always deserted, except for Prefect patrols, obviously”, Pansy hissed once they were definitely out of earshot of anyone who may have decided to alight the staircase. 

“I don’t even know who’s on patrol, might be Ernie, he’s a bit of an arse about rules,” Ron ventured, his expression puzzled as he tried to remember any details of the Prefect schedule. 

“We don’t have to worry about Macmillan,” Pansy shot him a sideways glance, her mouth twisted into a mischievous smile as she continued, “it’s me that’s supposed to be on duty.”

“Well,” Ron raised his eyebrows as he observed the witch in front him, “I thought  _ I  _ was a shit Prefect. I should give you a punishment, you know?”

“Maybe that’s what I’m counting on,” Pansy answered as Ron felt all colour drain from his face as he processed her words,  _ Holy Merlin!  _ Pansy’s top teeth bit down fleetingly on her bottom lip, before she quickened her walk once more and led Ron towards the West staircase, and the fairly straightforward route which would take them to the Fifth Floor.     
  


21.50. Friday. Fifth-Floor.

 

Pansy was a big fan of a Muggle concept she’d come across a few years prior,  _ winging it,  _ it was called _.  _ Hearing two Muggle-Borns say the words one afternoon, Pansy hadn’t paid the phrase much attention, until months later, when she overheard it for a second time. In this second instance, she had been about to sit an examination, an examination she’d done virtually no studying for, though, from the vague chatting that had occurred before they’d began, Pansy had gathered that the majority of her year had not bothered to do much revision for this particular test. 

“We’re basically all  _ winging it  _ at this point,” Pansy had turned and listened feverously to the conversation taking place, luckily in fairly close proximity to her position. 

“We’re all  _ what _ ?” Pansy had heard someone,  _ who like her was clearly clueless on the meaning of the words _ , ask. 

“You know, sort of making it up as you go along, without much preparation or a plan or anything.”

_ Huh, I like that.  _ Pansy had thought to herself, and though she’d never acknowledged where she’d got her inspiration from,  _ winging it  _ become the basis of the very framework in which Pansy lived her life. And therefore, it was not  _ entirely  _ the weirdest occurrence in the world that she found herself on the floor of the small room,  _ hidden behind the fuck-ugly statue,  _ drinking her weight in Firewhiskey and spilling the innermost confessions of her relationship problems to  _ Ron-fucking-Weasley _ of all people.    
Pansy hadn’t told anybody when Draco had confessed the week previous that he’d cheated on her, her plan of dressing herself up and forcing an alcohol-induced sex session had been born in desperation, Pansy knew that. Yet when he’d promised to meet her, at half past eight, she’d still believed him and despite the voice in her head that told her she was showing herself absolutely no respect, she’d continued to smooth, buff and moisturise every part of herself ready for him, for the  _ him  _ in question to not bother to even show up. Pansy took another swig, Weasel was right. Draco was a dickhead. 

“So,” she ventured, her eyes narrowing as she formulated the question in her mind, “We know why I’m sad and pathetically drinking with you, but why exactly are you sad and pathetically drinking with me,  _ Mr Unless-You-Have-A-Bottle-Of-Firewhiskey-Hidden-In-That-Skirt,  _ what gives?” she concluded, handing the,  _ significantly lighter,  _ bottle back to her red-haired confidant. 

Ron took the bottle, his swigs now matching hers and his face already showed much less of the screwed-up disgusted expression that he’d exhibited when they’d begun drinking the straight liquor. “Well,” Ron began, “I  _ think _ it’s a pretty close race, but I might actually win which one of us is the  _ most  _ sad and pathetic-,” Pansy raised her eyebrows, her head cocked to the right as she cut him off, “-I doubt that,” the pair studied each other for a few seconds before Ron continued, “Well, at least your boyfriend has the decency to cheat on you in private, my girlfriend got me to walk in on her getting off with another bloke.” 

“That’s fucked up.” Pansy stated, bluntly, before Ron nodded in agreement. “Okay you might be the  _ most _ sad and pathetic, but not by much,” she concluded.

“Told you.” Ron replied as he raised the bottle in mock celebration, before Pansy felt, rather than saw, his gaze dip below her face once more. She smiled in spite of herself, the Firewhiskey masking what nerves she would have were she faced with this scenario sober, “See anything you like?” she ventured, purposefully shifted, arching her back in such a way that her breasts were pushed up and out, she bit her lip again, studying the Gryffindor.

  
  
  


_ Oh, she’s a tease.  _ Ron’s body seemed to move of entirely its own volition, his legs pushed him upwards and his arms steadied his uncoordinated, intoxicated body against a nearby wall. His brain however, was focussed solely on the witch sitting mere feet in front of him, her eyes burned into him as his own flicked between her green pupils; the bottom lip she was biting down on; and further down still, where he noted her chest now even looked as though it was pushing itself forward, towards him. This sight,  _ the sight of her,  _ and the false bravery the Firewhiskey had lent to him,  _ which, even for a Gryffindor, would most definitely not have been in place sans the burning liquid,  _ was all he needed to know that right now, she was all he wanted. 

Did he see anything he liked? Who was she kidding? She must damn well know he could see a hell of a lot of things he liked. His eyes refused to leave her as he moved forward the three short steps it took to be level with her. Reaching his hand down, for the second time that evening, to help the witch to her feet. Green doe-eyes looked up at him from her current position for a few seconds more, neither saying one word. Pansy accepted Ron’s eager hand once again and allowed the tall wizard to help her to her feet. This time however, once Pansy was standing, her hand didn’t automatically leave Ron’s, as they both simultaneously shifted the position of their fingers, each locking into the others’, their palms touching. Using this to his advantage, Ron pushed their interlaced hands up above her head and into the wall behind Pansy as he took one further step forward and successfully closed the small gap between them entirely, he felt her hips shift slightly against his. Swallowing hard, Ron looked down at the witch, he pressed his forehead into hers and their deep breaths seemed to synchronise, the scent of Firewhiskey thick and heavy in every small space not taken up by their bodies _.  _ Ron snaked his free hand to the side of Pansy’s stomach, rubbing his thumb gently over the thin fabric of her lacy, black top for a short moment, before hastily bringing his head down at the same second she brought hers upwards, her soft lips meeting his quicker than Ron had anticipated as somehow, somewhere deep inside of him, Pansy lit a fire he’d been unaware he possessed.

  
  
  


Pansy found herself not aware of very much, what she did know was the Ron Weasley’s kiss was causing a chain reaction of sensations throughout her whole body, sensations she had never felt anything close to the likes of before.  _ Who would ever have guessed Weasel was such a good kisser? _ His tongue had entered her mouth shortly after its arrival on her lips, consistently teasing her own as she felt his left hand tighten around her back whilst his right,  _ which had been holding her own in place above her head, _ left its current position and landed on her shoulder, where it made its way towards her neck. His thumb rested on a particularly sensitive point above her collarbone, before the wizard slid his hand around the back of Pansy’s neck and cupped her jaw as he kissed her with more passion than Draco had managed in two years.  

“Bloody hell.” She heard Ron gasp, his fingers now grabbing handfuls of her long, dark locks; she synchronised the action by running her own slender fingers through what she could of his own short, ginger hair. 

“I know,” she breathed in a ragged response, her arms snaking their way over Ron’s shoulders, she could feel his muscles tensing and found herself lifted from her feet, her back shoved roughly against the wall as Ron’s hands held her thighs in place with her legs wrapped around his waist. 

“Merlin, Weasel,” Pansy moaned as she became aware that Ron was moving lightly against her, her skirt had been pushed roughly up somewhere around her hips when he’d picked her up and the crotch of his jeans, coupled with the slight thrusting action was causing a satisfying yet agonising friction to occur with Pansy’s knickers. 

“Seriously,-” he gasped, his breathing sporadic, his kisses becoming increasingly more fierce between his words, “You’re still going to call me Weasel, even now?” 

“I’ll  _ always  _ call you Weasel,” Pansy breathed with as much of a smirk she could muster, anything other than moaning was becoming increasingly difficult.

“Is that so?” Ron questioned, raising his eyebrows cockily as he pulled his torso away from her, his lower body stayed firmly in place and therefore so did the raven haired Slytherin. He studied her for a moment, Pansy’s breathing was still heavy as she awaited his next move. She didn’t have to wait long, it transpired. Pansy bit down hard on her bottom lip again as she watched the Gryffindor lift his arms above his head, bringing his t shirt with them. Without much thought, she grabbed his right hand in her left and positioned it under her own top, signalling his next move ought to be the removal of hers. 

  
  
  


Ron had hardly needed the prompting, he’d wanted that lacy distraction on the floor before he’d even touched her. Both his hands gripped the black textile as he took a small step backwards allowing Pansy’s thighs to grip him harder, without the wall behind her for support. He lifted the garment from her person almost effortlessly and immediately found her lips crashing against his once more, the kiss was the single most powerful experience his sixteen years had granted him this far, and in that moment he’d have gladly given up Gryffindor’s chances of the winning the Quidditch Cup if it allowed him to kiss her like this forever. 

Ron felt Pansy loosen the iron-clad grip her legs had held him in, the kiss refusing to lessen in passion as she landed back on her feet. Ron ran his hands along her shoulders, the pads of his thumbs moved in small circular movements, his excitement of having access to the flawless pale skin of her upper body was almost unbearable and he heard himself letting out a soft, yet primal sounding, groan against her soft mouth. 

Feeling Pansy pull away from him, Ron found himself grabbing the back of her head again, desperately hoping she hadn’t changed her mind about the direction their drinking pity-session had gone. He felt the touch of a laugh escape her lips and land on his own, “Relax, I’m not going anywhere”, he heard her murmur, she placed a definite peck on his mouth then stepped backwards, her head swivelling around as she clearly searched the small room for something, “Ah,” he heard her speak aloud, and watched as she walked to a small table near the door and noticed just before she stretched for it that her wand was resting atop the small piece of furniture. Ron’s knew his eyes should be on the hand she was about to do whatever magic she’d decided to execute, however he found he had absolutely no desire to remove his gaze from the plunging, black bra that was expertly keeping her breasts from him. 

He was obscurely aware of her muttering an incantation and had a vague understanding that whatever the spell was, it had been directed onto a table that had been pushed against the wall on Ron’s right hand side, but frankly, she could have summoned a crate of blast-ended skrewts to watch them for mating ideas and he wouldn’t have cared less. 

She jumped onto the table, “Perfect,” he heard her mutter, then louder, she spoke directly to him, “Well, come on then.” He didn’t need telling twice, crossing the room in a few short seconds and savouring the fact that his hands could run their way through her hair once more, “What did you do?” he enquired before beginning to place a line of soft kisses down her jawline, “Cushioning charm-,” she answered before a sigh escaped her mouth at his actions, “-the table feels like a bed now.”

Ron pulled away from her just long enough to express his eagerness, “A bed, you say?” Before he pulled her from the table and picking her up once again, enabling himself to have a firm grip of her pert behind, he allowed his hands a quick fondle of her buttocks, _ realising that the skirt, which had fallen back to its original position and this time had refused to ride up like before, was nothing more than a mere annoyance and needed to join Pansy’s top on the floor very soon,  _ he gave her a quick, chaste kiss, before launching a shocked Pansy on top of the table. The dark haired witch shrieked in surprise before Ron,  _ who had hitched himself onto the table straight after he’d let Pansy go, _ caught her scream in a heart stopping kiss, somehow rough and gentle all at once, they stopped only long enough for Pansy to lift her bottom enough for him to jerk her skirt down and over her legs, Ron heard her shoes hit the stone floor one after the other as he watched her fingers run their way over the buckle of his belt, her mouth ran soft kisses over his chest as she made quick work of undoing the metal clasp, before loosening his jeans button and fly. 

  
  


Pansy’s head was spinning, she felt in herself that she’d sobered up somewhat, yet her want of Ron had subsided none, in fact, in that moment, she would have said her  _ need  _ of the redhead had increased alarmingly, Ron’s jeans had been removed very quickly after her skirt, and there they were, atop the magically charmed table, him laying on top of her, his current trail of kisses having started at the spot directly behind her left earlobe and had curved its way down the side of her neck and alluringly had stopped at the top of her bra. Pansy felt Ron nuzzle the soft skin at the top of her right breast, her body begging him to focus his attention to the sensitive peaks still hidden by her bra. Arching her body so the part of her back that housed her bra clasp was no longer touching the table and Pansy sighed in relief when she realised Ron had taken her hint and had moved his hands to the clasp in question. The bra popped open after a few seconds of fumbling on Ron’s part, who, _ despite his obvious current arousal _ , still looked incredibly chuffed with himself having successfully undone Pansy’s bra without her assistance. Pansy couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his evident pride, “Hey! They’re tricky!” He cried as he laughed with her, and for the second time that evening, pressed his forehead into hers, their ragged breaths somehow harmonising perfectly. 

She didn’t know how long they lay, foreheads poised together, until Pansy felt his hands begin to feel their way down her exposed flesh again, his mouth quickly following suit as he placed kisses down her chest, finally, after what felt like an hour of painfully slow teasing torture, Ron was running his tongue over Pansy’s nipple and she found herself reaching for her wand to cast the silencing charm, _ that should have been in put in place a while ago _ , so she had no need to worry about the volume of her moaning.  _ Seriously, where did Weasel learn this?  _ She mused as he switched to her other breast, before the gentle scraping of his teeth against one of her firm, raised peaks drove all thoughts from her mind.

A pulsing had began to occur beneath Pansy’s underwear right from when Ron had first risen and walked over to the Slytherin, the fire she’d seen in his eyes at that moment had been more than enough for her body to begin signalling that she felt a very definite need to be pleasured. Now however, with his erection pressing into her with every grinding movement Ron made, the pulsing was stronger than ever and Pansy felt a desperate need for Ron to move his attentions a foot and a half or so south from his current point of focus. As though he’d read her mind, Ron moved back up her slender frame and planted one solitary kiss on her mouth, before beginning a whole new descent down her writhing physique. 

  
  


The way her body moved beneath him, with such wanton need, was something entirely new to Ron. he had gone the whole way with Lavender but he realised now there had been no heat with his ex-girlfriend and in the past hour he’d experienced more passion with a girl that he’d been entirely certain he hated, than in all the months he and Lavender had been a couple. 

It made absolutely zero sense,  _ they  _ made absolutely zero sense and yet here he was, making his way down to the apex of Pansy Parkinson’s legs, kissing every part of her perfect body his lips could reach. Stopping at her hip bone only to admire an impressive black and grey realistic rose tattoo he hadn’t noticed before, the sight of it turned him on even more as his eyes hungrily took in every inch of her, wanting nothing more than to give her endless amounts of pleasure before taking her, before fucking the beautiful witch senseless, and then starting the whole night over again.

Stroking the tops of both her thighs with his fingertips simultaneously, feeling the lacy fabric of her stockings,  _ definitely his new favourite item of clothing _ , Ron leant down and kissed her stomach, as much as he longed to provide her with as close to ecstasy as he hoped he could manage, he sensed Pansy liked the build up, and so he teased, and tortured her, licking and kissing and particularly enjoying feeling the wetness,  _ even through her knickers, _ against his chest as she actively bucked her crotch up against him as she continued to moan in pleasure and frustration, one of her hands was grabbing what she could of his hair and pushed his head further down, causing Ron to chuckle darkly. 

“Fuck, Weasel…” Pansy’s voice sounded detached and rough as she pressed her most intimate area upwards into him once more. 

“Okay, you’ve suffered enough,” Ron informed her with another low laugh as Pansy made an indecipherable muffled noise and in one swift movement he pulled her underwear,  _ and slightly regrettably, those sexy stockings _ off, throwing them over his shoulder before finally paying the newly exposed part of her the attention it so desperately deserved.

She was entirely shaved, something Lavendar had always completely refused to even contemplate, and Ron’s already prominent erection twitched in anticipation at the sight of her. Running his middle finger up and down her glistening opening, Ron knew immediately when he’d grazed her clit by the twitching way Pansy’s body responded. He grinned to himself, unable to believe he’d actually caused this reaction in the beautiful witch in front of him as he continued his slow and slight up and down movements until he himself could barely contain going no further. Pushing his way into her soaking heat, Pansy let out her loudest moan yet, as Ron explored her silky, wet folds; before focussing his fingertips directly on her clit. Moving his middle finger in the same up and down movement, as he felt Pansy actually convulse under him.

  
  


“Go in circles!” She cried out, the pleasure was intense, and certainly unmatched by any sexual experience she’d had thus far. “Like this?” She heard Ron ask, and she could barely manage a strained  _ mmhmmm  _ in response, she was so close she could probably have orgasmed at any point, but she was determined to prolong her pleasure as long as possible. Ron seemed to quickly master the circling motion Pansy loved so much, she felt him use his fingers from his other hand to enter her, the first hand leaving her clit momentarily only to be replaced by his tongue, which replicated the circling perfectly and his now free hand reached upwards to play with her left nipple. Pansy enjoyed this new setup for what felt like approximately one minute before her body’s need to orgasm grew too great and she came, her orgasm consuming her entire body in waves of sheer pleasure over and over again until, final over, she lay absolutely still, barely believing she’d experienced such a strong sensation.

Ron kissed his way back up her pale frame, “You good?” He queried once his face was level with hers once more, she kissed him in response, the taste of her own arousal lingered between the two. “Where did you learn  _ that?”  _ She questioned him with a laugh as she nudged his stomach, hinting for the Gryffindor to lie on his back, he complied after watching her with interest as she’d pulled his boxer shorts from his person. He shrugged in reply to her question, answering a simple “Five older brothers.” Nodding, Pansy threw her right leg over him and sat there, straddling the redhead, she teased his erection with the wetness he’d already familiarised himself with. Pansy’s eyes met Rons, the wizard was lying back and had propped himself up with both elbows,  she noticed his eyes narrowed and his breath staggered with every move she made. 

“You remember how much you teased me, don’t you Weasel?” Pansy asked, her voice emanating a false sweetness as she watched the realisation dawn on Ron’s face.

“I’m about to regret it, aren’t I?” He asked, Pansy didn’t reply and positioned her entrance directly over the tip of his hard cock, and moved herself downwards a touch. She watched as Ron hissed in pleasure and the witch took a great deal of delight in moving herself back upwards. “You’re evil,” he said with a slight laugh as Pansy repeated the tortuous action. She was enjoying herself immensely. “No more evil than you were,” she said with a small wink and another downwards movement, earning her a groan of “Holy shit” from Ron. The Gryffindor sat up further, his hands running over the backs of her thighs, looping over her bottom, and then up to gently cup her breasts; and back again, eventually keeping his right hand firmly placed on her backside, whilst his left tangled into her long hair, he grabbed a fistful and pulled Pansy’s head down to meet his own. She wanted to resist his kiss, to tease him to the level he’d teased her, but she wanted his lips on hers too much and so she relinquished and as his tongue met hers, she allowed herself to fully descend over his cock and this time she only moved upwards so she could go back down, over and over, in what was easily the best sex Pansy had ever had. 

  
  


_ Gods, she was incredible.  _ His concentration was taking a serious hit this evening, and right now, as Pansy rode him, slowly at first but with a definite quickening pace, the sensations in his body left no room for any other thoughts. It was all he had to hold onto her, his right hand had left her hair and had moved to her left breast as she straightened and then arched her back, her head flung backwards as she cried out the sexiest moans Ron had ever heard. His orgasm was close to erupting far sooner than he would have liked, but the feel of her as she fucked him with increasing vigor, combined with the sight of her as she did so, was simply too much. The orgasm was easily the most intense he’d had and he’d thrown his arms around Pansy as he came, biting down on her pale neck as he did. 

“Wow”, the only coherent word Ron managed to utter had escaped him as he lay back onto the magically cushioned table, his arms were still around Pansy and the witch ended up lying on top of him, their legs intertwined and mouths meeting yet again. Her tongue massaged his as Ron’s hands returned to their newfound favourite place; tangled in her long, dark locks. 

Ron didn’t have a clue where to go from here,  _ should he feel a sense of shame?  _ The questions were endless, yet Ron cared not for any answers right now and for tonight, the only thing that mattered was that she stayed in his arms. 

“So, how was that for a drink of whiskey?” Pansy asked huskily in his ear. Ron laughed, “I think  _ you’re  _ my drink of whiskey,” Pansy scoffed, “I don’t want to be a boring old whiskey, I want to be a fine wine,” she elongated the end of the last two words and Ron couldn’t help but laugh before countering, “You’ll be my glass of wine,  _ I’ll _ be  _ your _ shot of whiskey.”

“Deal,” Pansy murmured into Ron’s neck sleepily as the red haired wizard held her petite frame close, brushed a few stray strands of hair away from her face before planting a soft kiss on her left temple.

  
  


05.30. Saturday. Fifth-Floor.

 

Pansy awoke the next morning with a pounding head; a incredibly dry mouth and the stark truth of what she had done last night unmissable in the unmistakable form of a naked Ron Weasley sleeping soundly beneath her.  _ Oh, Holy Hellsnake!  _ Remaining still for a few minutes, Pansy was unsure of how to proceed, the only other person she’d ever woke up naked with was Draco, which, even though he’d been her boyfriend,  _ still technically was her boyfriend,  _ he had a tendency to  become increasingly irate if she tried to stay in his company after they’d engaged in sex, and therefor it was a rare occurrence. Pansy had a dull memory of Ron brushing her hair from her face and kissing her head softly whilst his arms remained tightened around her, the witch tried to remember a time Draco had ever kissed her in that way; not for himself, in the heat of the moment, but  _ just because _ . Ron hadn’t needed to kiss her head last night, and she doubted it was for his benefit, and yet he’d still done it, why did she feel that  _ Weasel  _ had shown her more tenderness in that one small action than Draco ever had throughout a two year relationship? Had Weasel actually  _ wanted  _ to stay with her,  _ after  _ she’d fucked him? No part of any of this made sense in Pansy’s mind. 

Ron still hadn’t woken, soft snores emanated from his unconscious form and Pansy found herself with a soft smile upon her face as she listened to him sleep. Wondering if she could possibly get up without waking the redhead, Pansy lifted one of her legs up and over slowly as she placed her right hand on the faux-mattress table and gradually raised herself to sitting. Pansy was contemplating the best angle to maneuver herself from the surface when Ron’s snores stopped and after a few seconds, his blue,  _ slightly bloodshot, _ eyes opened and focussed on a naked Pansy.  _ Shit! _

Pansy didn’t say a word as she watched the wizard, attempting the gauge any reaction he presented. The witch was suddenly feeling exposed, a harsh vulnerability washed over her as she threw her arms over her bared breasts, and drew her legs into a crossed position. It dawned on her, all of a sudden, that whilst she certainly didn’t know how she felt about this strange predicament she found herself in, she had virtually no idea how in Merlin’s name Weasel felt, Weasel hated her and hated everything Pansy represented. Had he done it to one-up Draco? So he could gloat to all his stupid Gryffindor friends? Or worse, what if after she’d confessed how badly Draco treated her, had he merely pity-fucked her? 

Ron’s eyes had widened at the sight of her, “Errr, hi,” he’d ventured after a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Hi.” Pansy responded curtly, what should she do? How does one react when waking up on top of a naked Weasley? 

Pansy looked around the small room, _ an old empty storage room not many people knew of, her and a few friends had found a few years prior, when running from Filch,  _ and mentally located her wand, on the floor beside the table-bed. Summoning all the courage she had, Pansy made to vacate the table; dress; leave and possibly never speak of this night again. She had no other feasible plan of how to continue. She was surprised when Ron spoke next, “I, err, had a good time last night.” His voice was little more than a croak, and with the way he opened and closed his mouth, Pansy was willing to bet his mouth was as dry as hers was. 

Pansy swallowed, feeling slightly less vulnerable as she felt his fingertips gently stroking  her arm. “Me too,” she said, meeting his eyes and biting her lip, this time not in seduction, but in confusion and wonder, somehow the fact he was touching her again now was more worrying, a drunken fuck she could always put down in her mind as such, but sober sex? Well that was a different kettle of squids, _ and from the fact that Ron’s cock had hardened entirely in the few minutes since he’d woken up _ , Pansy knew that more sex was most likely exactly what was on his mind. 

  
  
  


Until he’d opened his eyes and seen her for himself, he had thought it was a dream, a very pleasing dream, but a dream nonetheless. Pansy Parkinson was never exactly someone he’d considered pursuing, the thought of such was laughable, he was a Weasley, half his family was in the Order and the Parkinsons were possible acquaintances of Voldemort.  _ Bloody hell. _ And yet, when he looked at her, he couldn’t see any of that, all family drama was pushed from his mind as quickly as it had appeared as he looked at nothing but the beautiful girl he’d had one of the best nights of his life with. And beautiful she was, and as the more intimate details of last night appeared in his mind, Ron had no hope of stopping himself from getting hard as his fingertips found one of her arms to gently stroke, hoping he’d illicit some of the same heat that had enveloped them last night. He saw her close her eyes and breath deep, and a small smirk escaped him as he remembered how much pleasure he’d given her the night before. Opening her eyes again Pansy looked at him, her own fingertips suddenly grazing the base of his stomach, causing a hiss of surprise to erupt from Ron’s mouth. 

“You’re too far away,” he informed her, which earned him a snort of amusement from the witch, her face looked more relaxed than it had when he’d first awoke, as he took in her pale features, and smudged eye make up which surrounded her bright green eyes in a sexy mess of disarray, he smiled at the sight, “What?” she demanded, clearly unnerved by his sudden grin, which caused him to laugh harder, “You look like a sexy panda,” he answered, pulling the dark haired beauty on top of him once again, “I look…-what?” 

“Your make up’s a bit smudged now, and you look like a sexy panda.” Ron stated, matter-of-factly before pulling her into him and kissing her mouth.

“Nnnnargh! No, I taste disgusting!” She pulled away and batted his arm, which was already attempting to pull her back downwards, “So do I, we’ll cancel each other out. Kiss me.” 

“Gah! Weasel, you’re hopeless,” 

“And you, Panda, are too sexy for your own good.”

“Don’t call me Panda, you freak!” Pansy laughed, she was straddling Ron by this point, and was rather enjoying the feel of his hardness once again pressing against her.

“You call me Weasel!” He snorted, this time successful in pulling her head down for a kiss, his tongue finding hers instantly as he gently rubbed the back of her head and enjoyed the fact that she was slowly grinding alongside his cock. 

In a split decision, Ron somehow managed to flip their positions in one swift movement, rolling the pair over so he was now on top of Pansy, a position which had become one of his new favourite places to be. 

  
  


“Oh,” Pansy breathed as Ron rolled her over, he was on top of her again and already planting soft, wet kisses over her neck and chest. She sighed, her hands running through his hair, and as his mouth reached one of her nipples, she let out a very audible cry of pleasure as she wrapped her legs around his waist, crossing her ankles next to his back and forcing his body downward, wanting nothing more than to feel the weight of his body pressing on top of her. 

“Gods,-” he whispered, his voice strained, in her ear, “-I need you.”

“Me too,” she breathed, a short lived wave of fear tearing through her as she realised this was no word of a lie and about entirely more than the sex they were about to partake in.

They cried out together as he entered her, starting slowly, yet Pansy noticed Ron’s pace beginning to quicken almost instantly. His kisses began to dissipate as he thrusted in and out of her, until he pushed himself upwards, resting entirely on his knees as he continued to ride her, and Pansy felt a wave of sensation has she felt his fingers working her clit in the same circular motion that had pushed her over the edge last night. 

“Fuck, Weasel!” Pansy all but yelled as his hand movement increased and she felt the usual tingling feeling in her clit that always let her know her climax was imminent. 

“Let go, beautiful.” Pansy heard Ron direct her, and she gave in to his words, her orgasm waving over her in a perfect, intense roar. Pansy’s mind was clouded, as though she’d yet again drunk half a bottle of Firewhiskey, and all she knew, in that moment was that Ron needed to be pressed on top of her again, she needed his mouth on hers and his strong arms surrounding her. And somehow, as though he had known instantly what she had thought, Pansy felt Ron’s lips crash onto her own as he lay fully on top of her once more, her legs had wrapped themselves around his waist once more, her thighs keeping him in place as she kissed him with everything she had as he pounded into her, the only sounds that escaped his lips between kissing her were groans, and finally, in the moment she knew he was coming, he cried Pansy’s name.

  
  


Pulling on his t shirt, Ron fastened his belt and let out a sigh as he watched Pansy charm her skirt a slightly longer length. Her face was strained as she studied her appearance as well she could without a mirror. 

“It’s still early, only half six, we shouldn’t bump into anyone anyway,” Ron ventured, swallowing as he attempted to break the brewing tension. How on earth were you supposed to address the person you’d spent all night,  _ and all morning _ , shagging senseless? Ron had no clue how to react and he could already see Pansy had slipped on her cold, nonchalant demeanor she was so well known for and Ron was becoming increasingly sure the girl he’d just spent some of the best hours of his life with, was planning to leave this room and never speak to him again, the thought of which hit him like a punch to the gut.  _ But, maybe that would be easier.  _ Ron knew there was little to no chance he could be with her, not properly. 

“Right, that makes it easier I suppose,” Pansy said, in reference to the comment he’d made regarding the time, and Ron nodded in agreement. 

Pansy opened the door and the pair slipped quietly into the corridor, Ron a few seconds after Pansy. Making their way quickly through the halls, and eventually the pair reached the hallway which led to the top of the Entrance Stairs, and the point in which they had to part. Ron swallowed hard again, unsure if saying anything to Pansy was better than saying nothing, she had kept her mouth decidedly shut for the duration of their journey, as had he, yet the imminent departure of the dark haired Slytherin was starting to become a painful reality that Ron just didn’t feel ready for. The cushioning charms had remained in place on the soles of both their shoes and therefor they approached the stairs in relative silence, which, as it turned out, enabled them the opportunity to hear a somewhat hushed, yet still entirely audible conversation which seemed to be coming from near the top of the staircase they were headed to. 

 

“We could easily have stayed longer, you know that.”

 

“We’ve risked too much already, we stayed out  _ all night  _ Draco, we’ve never been so careless before.” 

 

And that was the moment a very dishevelled looking Ron and Pansy ran into an equally dishevelled looking Draco and Hermione. 

  
  


Pansy stopped, her heart in her chest. She found her eyes darting between her blonde boyfriend and the curly-haired answer to the question of why Draco hadn’t been willing to tell her  _ who  _ he’d cheated on her with. This new information was failing to process somehow. Pansy didn’t know whether to be mad, which she still was of course,  _ he  _ had cheated on  _ her  _ first, or relieved. If last night had taught her anything, it was that her and Draco had around 1/100th of the spark that her and Weasel had, as ridiculous as that concept sounded to even think. A small part of her even felt a bizarre sense of gratitude, had Draco not stood her up, Pansy would never have ended up spending the night with Ron, and the prospect that last night might not ever have occurred was a painful one. 

Feeling Draco’s eyes boring into her, Pansy avoided his gaze, choosing instead to scrutinise Granger, Pansy had never seen the Gryffindor look so unkempt. Her hair, which was a bushy mess at the best of times, was inexplicably messy; her neck was covered in love bites and her clothes were crumpled; the buttons of her cardigan, Pansy noticed, were done up incorrectly. Hermione was staring starkly at Ron, her eyes almost had a pleading look about them, which Pansy gathered was more than likely something to do with keeping Potter in the dark about this little gathering. Ron himself, Pansy noticed after a glance, was staring daggers at Draco, the fingers of his right hand twitching around his wand. 

And there the four stayed, Pansy didn’t even know how long for, with her staring down Hermione; Hermione pleading silently with Ron; Ron glaring at Draco and Draco intently watching Pansy. 

It was, in fact, Draco who broke the four way stalwart, he raised his hands in mock surrender and directed his attention solely at Ron, “Alright Weasley have at it, by the looks of things I’ve just caught you having just had it off with  _ my  _ girlfriend, what  _ exactly  _ seems to be your current issue? You and Granger aren’t anything.”

  
  


_ Is the slimy git having a fucking laugh? _ Ron had barely heard the second half of what Malfoy had said, his temper rising as he attempted to process what the blonde had spoken. “Your  _ girlfriend?”  _ He spat, aware dimly that Pansy swivelled on the spot to stare at him. “Is that a fucking joke? You haven’t treated her like a girlfriend in  _ years, _ you arsehole!”

 

“Well,” Draco began, his eyebrows raised, “this is unexpected, and here was me thinking you were pissed that I’d fucked Granger before you had the chance to.”

 

“Draco!” Hermione’s cry was high and her voice cracked, Ron could tell her eyes were fighting tears, he watched as she turned on her heel and stomped up the stairs. Ron knew his only choice right now was to run after his friend, refusing to leave her alone in this state, turning quickly to Pansy he spoke quickly, “I need to go after her, you okay?”

 

“Yeah, you, err, didn’t have to...you know.”

 

“Yeah… I did.” He finished with a curt nod, earning him a small smile from the dark haired witch, shooting Malfoy a further glare accompanied by a stark “Fuck you,” Ron ran up the stairs two at a time, hoping he could catch Hermione quickly. As it transpired, he didn’t have to search for long, Hermione had seemingly got only one more staircase up and collapsed on the bottom stair and burst into tears, she allowed Ron’s arm to cover her shoulders and used his chest as a place to deploy her tears. He said nothing, fairly confident that a long cry would probably be much more effective than any comfort he could attempt to give. Particularly as it had never exactly been a strong point of his and so he gave her all he could; a safe place to lean where he knew his words would fail.

 

And there, in a third-floor stairwell, the two friends somehow, without words, reclaimed their damaged and broken friendship, and as they alighted the steps they needed to take, in order to return to Gryffindor tower, Ron felt for the first time in months that he and Hermione were going to be okay. And somehow, through a bizarre twist of fate, he had Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy to thank.

  
  


“Should we speak about it?” Draco enquired as he and Pansy made their way to the dungeons; his trademark smirk was in place, Pansy was wearing a cool scowl as they walked towards their common room.

 

“Nope.” Pansy answered, she hadn’t even meant it in a pissed off way, she literally had no want, nor felt any sort of need to discuss a single part of this situation with Draco. “We’re over, obviously. And unless you want the entire school to know of your seedy affair with the Muggle-born Princess of Gryffindor, you’ll keep your mouth shut about you-know-what.”

 

“You-know-what? As in the fact that you’ve shagged Weasel? Don’t worry,” he added with a scoff, “I have no desire for hundreds of people to know that you chose to get with  _ that,  _ whilst you were technically still with me.”

 

“Whatever Draco.”Pansy snapped as they headed into the dark confines of Slytherin, and without so much as a backwards glance, Pansy strode towards the door that led to her dormitory, eager to be away from her ex-boyfriend and alone with her thoughts and memories of the previous night. 

  
  


One Week Later

  
  


01.45. Saturday. Gryffindor Common Room. 

 

“Let me get this straight,  _ you,-”  _ Harry jabbed his finger in the direction of an irate looking Hermione, “-have been shagging  _ Malfoy?!  _ Malfoy! Draco Malfoy? And you-,” he turned and pointed his finger in the direction of Ron’s chest, “-had a wild night with Pansy-bloody-Parkinson, but she hasn’t spoke to you since?” 

“Well, she hasn’t  _ exactly  _ spoken to me, no. But…,” Ron trailed off, holding up the parchment he’d retrieved from the owl.

Harry shook his head in disbelief, sinking back into his chair once more, neither of the three spoke for a number of minutes, until Harry addressed Hermione again, “I thought Ron said he was an arse to you, how come you’re still meeting him?”

 

“Well, he...err, was very apologetic for that and, well, emotions were running high all over.” Hermione ended meekly, earning her yet another disbelieving shake of his head from Harry. 

 

“Bloody hell. Well, I’m going to bed, this is a lot to process, you know?” And with that, Harry marched towards the stairs that led to the dormitory, expletives clearly being mumbled as he did.

 

Hermione, her face flushed and her eyes not meeting Ron’s, nodded her head, “Yes, me too. Goodnight Ronald.” She said with a matter-of-fact air before turning and striding the same way Harry had.

 

Ron ran his hands threw his hair, truth be told he’d been contemplating going to bed himself, before the note; Hermione; and the confessions to Harry, had all arrived at once. Ron was definitely no longer feeling so tired as he opened the note, _still clutched in his hand,_ again and read the scribbled words, a smile creeping onto his face as he pulled on a closeby jumper, knowing that Harry was most likely not in the mood to let Ron borrow his invisibility cloak, Ron realised he’d have to run the risk of getting caught, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that what awaited him, in a small room on the fifth floor, _with a magically cushioned table; a bottle of Firewhiskey; and her,_ _was_ worth the risk.

  
  


_ “It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk, and I need you now” _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
